


Horizons change, but the sun does not

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [5]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, This is just smut, What else is new, also Tommy being a demanding bastard, plain and simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: “Just…” Tommy had said, right before they got started, hair still damp from his bath, which in Alfie's mind made him look strangely vulnerable for whatever fucking reason. “I, I've never actually… I might not fucking like it, all right?”In which some people decide to broaden their horizons.(This is part of a bigger overall AU, but it's pretty self-explanatory. Takes place not long after "Half the battle is won by asking for it".)
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: The desert is a waste of time [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310750
Comments: 21
Kudos: 419





	Horizons change, but the sun does not

“Fuck you,” Tommy pants, which makes Alfie bite back a grin – because they’re both well aware at this point that whenever he says that (not “no”, not “stop”, not “I don’t fucking like this”, but “fuck you”, like he’s spitting out an accusation) he actually means _“fuck yeah, like that”_. Alfie just has to translate, is all.

He’s moving his fingers now, scissoring them a little, and Tommy exhales noisily, sounding surprised. Got one of his legs drawn up for better access, which he did all by himself; Alfie most certainly didn’t tell him to, didn’t make him do anything, as a matter of fact, but he’s also not going to mention it, right, on account of not being a moron hell bent on ruining the mood. (Well. Not right now, at least.)

“Fuck,” Tommy hisses, sounding almost angry about it. He’s shifting around, distracted, looking downright offended.

They’re at Alfie’s house, in Alfie’s bedroom, which means that Alfie’s had to clear his entire desk after the very surprising and very charming phone call he received about two hours ago. He hadn’t even realized Tommy was in London up until this point, which… he’s not going to lie, that had stung a bit, and was a bit concerning as well, because Alfie did like to think that he was at least tangentially aware of a lot of things, and Tommy Shelby’s approximate whereabouts at all times were definitely among them.

(And had been for a long while, too. A lot longer than he cared to admit, actually, not that anybody was asking.)

“You alone?” Tommy had said on the phone, and Alfie had blinked down at the pencil in his hand and had said “Yeah?” somewhat apprehensive, because that sounded kind of ominous. There had been a short silence, until Tommy had said, clearly impatient, “Well, if you’re _not_ interested in me coming over-”

Alfie, who hadn’t even realized that this was on offer until that exact point in time, had coughed awkwardly, and then he’d said “hmmmm” like he actually needed to think about it. (Which he didn’t. The answer to that question, pathetically, had always been and probably would always be a resounding yes.) 

Then he’d sat there, spinning the pencil around between forefinger and middle finger to distract himself, and made Tommy wait for an additional few seconds, before he’d finally said, “Yeah, fine by me, mate. Why not.”

“One hour,” Tommy had said, which again had sounded a lot more ominous than it had any right to, but it wasn’t like Alfie actually cared. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye as well, which was, well, fucking _rude,_ Alfie’d thought, but then again, a lot of things about Tommy Shelby that didn’t involve him being in the horizontal weren’t exactly pleasant to being with. Endlessly fascinating and occasionally entertaining, yes – but actually pleasant? Fuck, no. 

(Which was just fine as far as Alfie was concerned, because, well. Dandelions and biscuits and fine china, _those_ things were fucking pleasant, and Alfie was bored to tears just listing them inside his own head.) 

When Tommy had finally shown up – one hour and thirty three minutes in, which meant he was thirty three minutes late, Alfie made sure to mention that – he was quietly agitated and looked so deadly serious, Alfie actually started considering the possibility that this might be more than a social call. 

Except then, out of nowhere, Tommy said, “I need to use your bathtub.” Coming from anybody else, this might have been a question, but it was coming from Tommy Shelby, so it sounded like an order instead. Alfie’d simply crossed his arms, leaned against the wall and raised a silent eyebrow at him. They stayed like that for a long moment, at an impasse, and then Tommy rolled his eyes and said, not quite looking Alfie in the face, but with his chin raised defiantly nonetheless, “Unless you don’t want to- you know. What we talked about.”

His tone had been convincingly annoyed, like it should be fucking obvious what he was talking about, but with an undercurrent of nerves that was probably undetectable for most people, but then again – Alfie wasn’t most people, not by a long shot. He obediently wracked his brain, trying to decipher what Tommy possibly meant by that. (Some days he quite liked the challenge. Other days, it was simply irritating as all hell.)

The agitation clearly implied something bedroom-related, Alfie had thought, and then he _did_ remember what they had talked about not too long ago, and then he thought, _…oh._ And just like that, everything else that had been on his mind until then had just... quietly faded into the background. 

“Oh, yeah?” he’d said, and Tommy must have realized they were on the same page, because his ears had gone red and he’d cleared his throat, and when Alfie continued, “Want me to put my fingers in, do you,” he flinched, eyes wide and alarmed, like he was worried somebody might overhear, but he didn’t even try to deny it. (Well, Alfie thought, maybe it _was_ a bit of an unusual conversation to have just standing in the hallway like that, but that really wasn’t Alfie’s fault, now was it. He hadn’t started any of it.)

So now here they are, here _Alfie_ is, two fingers deep and not even worried anymore that this whole evening might end in disaster. The initial awkwardness is long gone, disappeared into thin air like it always does, once things between them really get going. Alfie has stopped questioning it months ago. 

“Just…” Tommy had said, right before they got started, hair still damp from his bath, which in Alfie's mind made him look strangely vulnerable for whatever fucking reason. “I, I've never actually… I might not fucking like it, all right?”

“Sure,” Alfie'd said with a shrug, because he honestly didn't see what the problem was. “So what? Gonna find something else to do with our time, yeah, won't we.” 

Except they won’t need to do that, after all, because this… well, simply put, it’s fucking _working._ Tommy seemed stiff and uncomfortable at first, and then he seemed even more uncomfortable, but determined nonetheless, and then he just seemed bewildered and by the time Alfie pushed a second finger into him, he seemed boneless and tense at the same time, staring up at Alfie with dark eyes, breath coming quick and shallow. 

Alfie gives him some time to adjust – a lot more than he’d afford just about anybody, to be completely honest, but for some fucking reason, he seems to have an endless well of patience as far as Tommy is concerned – and then he finally pulls out a bit, and really fucks back into him for the first time, gentle but insistent, and Tommy makes a small, surprised noise. 

They stare at each other for one long second, absolutely frozen in time, and then something shifts. Alfie moves without even thinking, grabbing for his thigh; and Tommy is helping him right along, is the thing, _fuck,_ hooking his leg right over the crease of Alfie’s elbow. He looks shocked, and maybe a bit confused, like he’s not entirely sure what is happening right now, but nevertheless he’s going with it, rolling his hips shallowly. 

Alfie’s wrist feels like it might be on fire, because they’ve been at it for a bloody while and the angle is starting to take its toll, but he couldn’t give a flying fuck if he tried right now, would be all right with his arm falling off after this if he’s perfectly honest, because _this_ is fucking worth it and then some – Tommy Shelby, flushed pink down to his chest, mouth hanging open and panting desperately, fucking _himself_ back onto Alfie’s fingers. 

He’s clutching at the bedsheets hard enough for his knuckles to turn white, one hand fisted right by his hip, where Alfie is pushing his leg up, the other one shoved underneath the pillow that’s migrated far enough it’s ended up right by the headboard, not even supporting Tommy’s head anymore, his dark shock of hair a nice contrast to the white bedding. He looks so fucking pretty Alfie _has_ to stop himself from speeding up too much, absolutely fucking has to, because there’s static in his ears, head swimming with it when Tommy’s eyes flutter shut, black lashes fanning out over his cheeks, face looking as red-hot as Alfie feels right now. 

He wants _more,_ it’s fucking obvious, making soft, helpless noises in the back of his throat, chewing on his lower lip in a clear attempt at keeping silent. Alfie pushes his leg up a bit more on a whim and Tommy’s eyes snap open again, looking almost scandalized, which would be fucking hilarious under any other circumstances, except… it’s not right now, because this feels as serious as anything, feels strangely familiar and brand new at the same time.

And hell, Alfie thinks, if this is all he’s ever going to get out of this, he couldn’t even complain. (Still _would,_ naturally, because… he’s not going to lie, he’d probably kill a man for the chance to actually fuck Tommy at some point in this life, put him on his back and make him enjoy it, but it probably doesn’t hurt to be _somewhat_ humble sometimes, because, well… hubris and all that. Have to live with yourself on a daily basis, don't you.) 

“Not sure if you're gonna like it? Yeah?” he says, voice scraped to hell, mouth dry with want, and he couldn’t care less. “S’what I thought as well, mate, didn't I- look like you’re havin’ a terrible fuckin’ time, right-” and Tommy snaps “shut the fuck up” at him, but he doesn’t stop moving for even a moment.

 _“Christ-”_ he says then and his hand is twitching at his side – because he wants to touch himself, Alfie realizes, blood boiling so hot he thinks he might possibly die from it, because Tommy wants to _come,_ because he fucking _likes_ this, this is doing it for him, which is pretty obvious from the way his pretty, hard cock is lying against his stomach, leaking _everywhere,_ but still. Obviously he’s aware of Alfie staring at him, so now he _can’t._

Alfie’s entire arm is starting to burn from the strain, but he keeps the rhythm, not faltering for a second, wouldn’t stop for anything right now. Says “What’s the matter then? Hmm? Something you want?” and Tommy just glares up at him, defiant and needy at the same time.

“No,” he says then, which is a fucking lie and they both know it, because his movements are starting to become frantic; and all of a sudden, Alfie rams his fingers into him and stops, keeps him stuffed full and rubs against his prostate. Tommy makes a noise that clearly wants to be outraged and morphs into a low moan instead. He bucks up when Alfie wraps the fingers of his free hand around his cock, eyes squeezing shut, brow furrowing like he’s in pain, and then he settles back down a bit, and then he bucks again, seemingly lost in sensation. 

“Yeah,” Alfie says mindlessly. “Yeah, fuck, just look at you? Hmm? You're loving it, mate, like you were bloody made for this-”

 _“Shut-”_ Tommy hisses at him violently and then doesn't even bother finishing the sentence; other hand flying up over his head as well, grabbing for the pillow, fingers twisting into the fabric, obviously more than content to let Alfie get him off like this, which… _fuck._ Alfie wants to keep him like this forever and fucking _ruin_ him at the same time. 

He's moving his hand now, stroking Tommy off with his fingers still deep inside, keeping the rhythm slow and steady. Tommy clearly wants him to speed up, judging by the way he keeps moving against him, keeps twitching up and into Alfie’s grip with an impatient little noise each time, which… well, that's too bad for him, Alfie thinks, blood rushing in his ears, this is going to happen the way Alfie fucking wants it to, whether Tommy likes it or not.

“Like that?” Alfie says, when he crooks his fingers a bit and Tommy whines through his teeth, jaw clamped shut, furious and frantic at the same time. “Yeah, just like that, hmm? Can’t even fuckin’ deny it anymore-” and then Tommy’s moving all of a sudden, throwing an arm over his eyes in a clear attempt to hide his face, and Alfie realizes he’s about to come just as it actually happens. 

He’s arching his back, red mouth hanging open and trembling, spilling hot all over Alfie’s hand and his own chest. The first time he clenches down around Alfie’s fingers, he moans out loud, sounding shocked, and then he does it again and again, like he can’t even help himself; riding it out in long, sinuous waves and looking absolutely indecent while doing so. Alfie couldn’t avert his eyes if his life depended on it. 

He works him through it until he’s good and done, and when he finally, carefully pulls his fingers back out, there’s a pang of regret at the fact that it’s over now. It’s mixed with some dark and possessive feeling of absolute triumph because… Tommy’s said it himself, he’s never done this before. It _belongs_ to Alfie now. Whatever else might happen, whatever else Tommy might do with the rest of his life, Alfie is forever going to be the first. It makes his own cock throb just thinking about it. 

He lets himself fall forward, Tommy’s leg slipping from the crook of his arm, and hovers over him, balancing carefully, until Tommy eventually pulls his arm away from his face, blinking up at him with a dazed expression. He’s not always like this after he’s come, sometimes the sharpness returns immediately, but sometimes he’s… like this, too. Sated and pliable, with soft eyes and and an even softer mouth.

Alfie leans down and kisses him, with every intention of keeping it short and sweet, but then there’s a hand at the back of his head, winding into his hair, and then another one, palm pressed to the small of his back, pulling him down. So naturally, he goes – because really, what else is he supposed to do? 

Tommy makes a satisfied little huff as Alfie sinks down on top of him, heedless of the mess between them, one of his legs lazily curling around the back of Alfie’s thighs. Then he licks at Alfie’s lower lip, and all bets are off after that. Alfie rocks down against him, cock nestled in the groove between Tommy’s hip and his stomach, slippery with his come. It’s not enough friction by a long shot, but he’s too turned on to care, too busy kissing Tommy hard, tongue pushing deep into his mouth.

They keep going like this for a long time, until Tommy finally pushes at his side, trying to work a hand into the space between them. 

“Yeah?” Alfie murmurs against his jaw, amused and turned on in equal measure. “You wanna contribute something?”

“Fuck off,” Tommy murmurs back, pushing at him insistently until Alfie obliges and lifts up a bit. Tommy’s fingers wrapping around his cock sends a shiver through him, a full-body tremor that would be embarrassing, if Alfie gave a fuck about this kind of thing. He shoves into Tommy’s fist with a grunt, and then he just has to get his mouth on skin again, mindlessly licking underneath Tommy’s jaw, kissing his neck and the side of his face until he finally captures his mouth again. 

Gets off like that in no time at all, Tommy holding him tight and letting him fuck into his grip, everything still slick with his own release. He did that, Alfie thinks, _fuck,_ Tommy _let him_ do that, let Alfie open him up, didn’t he, in Alfie’s own fucking bed, spread his legs and let Alfie _fuck him-_

Orgasm washes over him out of nowhere, makes him burrow down against Tommy’s shoulder and the mattress, panting for air helplessly. Tommy’s other hand is still buried in his hair and he’s pulling at it now, hard enough to hurt, and Alfie says _“fuck”_ on a shivery exhale and shudders through another wave of pleasure all over again. 

Afterwards, they’re a mess; sticky with semen and stained with oil, because Alfie might have decided to err on the side of caution in that regard. This actually happened, he thinks, lying next to Tommy, who is staring up at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought; it happened and it went _well,_ of all things. 

Who’d have fucking thought. 

“All right, mate?” he says, just in case.

Tommy blinks, once, and then he looks over at him out of the corner of his eye, seeming faintly embarrassed, but the walls have clearly gone back up. 

“Hand me my cigarettes,” he says, which is an answer in itself, Alfie supposes. Scratches his fingers through his beard and taking his sweet time with the request, because… well. Everything that just happened here (and keeps happening, his brain supplies helpfully) aside… 

He’s not Tommy’s fucking lackey, now is he. 

**Author's Note:**

> You know... I really hope do Alfie gets to actually fuck him one day... but who knows! Not me!  
> (This was fun! I forgot how much I actually enjoy writing both of them being reserved and having their walls up, lmao...)
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
